Best Served Cold
by wiggle8
Summary: Kolly future fic; a chance encounter turns out very much Holly and Karen's way...


Chris cracked open his second beer of the day and took an appreciative gulp. Bit of an early start – it was only about one in the afternoon – but the hair of the dog was definitely required. In fact, given the size of his hangover, he needed the hair from a Great Dane or St Bernard or something. Still, at least he'd made it to the beach in daylight, unlike his pathetic mates, still in their pits and unlikely to appear until it was time to go out and do it all over again. Amateurs. He felt like he was really hitting his stride now though, three days in.

Mind you, it was sometimes hard work in this poxy little backwater. Of course they'd wanted to go to one of the real party hotspots but as his annoying 'rents were subbing this trip they'd insisted on 'somewhere quieter' where he could 'stay out of mischief'. Fat sodding chance. It was only because he'd somehow managed some A-level results that just scraped him into a bottom-of-the-heap Uni that they'd agreed to this trip at all. So at about 8pm the lads would be under starter's orders, and all pile into the taxi that would take them the few miles up the coast to the nearest half-decent club so they could carry on where they'd left off.

Meanwhile he could just chill out here on this stupid 'family beach' and try to ignore the middle-aged dickheads and their irritating little brats that infested it. He adjusted his position slightly, grimacing as his t-shirt rubbed against his sunburned shoulders, the result of falling asleep pissed on the beach on the first day. He swivelled his head around and surveyed the scene. Not too busy as it was around lunchtime, just a few little kids having tryout lessons on windsurfers in the shallow water a bit further down the beach, next to the watersports shack.

Actually, he decided, it might be worth making the effort to go and have a windsurfing lesson one morning because the bird who hired out the windsurfers and canoes and stuff looked pretty tasty, at least from a distance as he'd passed by, bleary-eyed, on the way to the beach bar for his first of the day. Tall and slim, with dark hair, she looked about the same age as him and clearly spoke English as she chatted to the Brit families that seemed delighted to be offloading their revolting offspring onto the watersports centre for an hour.

He squinted at her now, as she stood waist-deep in the sea, the water droplets on her lithe, tanned arms sparkling in the bright sunlight. She was looking after a couple of young kids on windsurfers, giving a bit of instruction and helping them back onto the boards as they inevitably fell off. Shrieks of laughter sounded across the water, which didn't do much for his headache.

Chris shaded his eyes and peered into the sun as she towed the boards into shore at the end of the lesson and hauled them up the beach. The girl definitely maintained his interest as she peeled off the shortie wetsuit she was wearing and stood there for a moment in just a tiny red and white striped bikini, revealing an even, all-over golden tan. Deffo going to have a crack at that, he thought. When I've sobered up and my head isn't pounding. Breath probably not too clever either at the mo, he reflected. Maybe tomorrow. Get a bit of an early night and rock up in the morning with my best winning smile. Sounds like a plan.

He continued watching, slightly disappointed as the girl slipped on a pale grey vest top and some faded, salt-stained board shorts. She'd been wearing an impressively weather-beaten and frayed baseball cap with her ponytail pulled through the gap at the back – kind of a sexy look, he'd always thought, for some reason – but now she tugged the cap off, and started to pull her hair back and fasten it up into a bun at the back.

And that's when it hit him.

Shit! Surely not? No way!

Chris sat bolt upright, but slumped immediately back onto one elbow as the sudden movement caused a wave of nausea to crash through him. With an effort he sat back up and squinted harder. It was difficult to see with the sunlight reflecting off the sea but… Oh jeez, yes, he was pretty sure.

Karen.

He hadn't seen her for over two years. The last he'd seen of her was her back as she sprinted out of the English classroom after that lezzie teacher he'd managed to hound out of the school.

He did feel a little bit bad about that, sometimes. A little bit.

And no-one else had seen her since either, as apparently they'd actually run off together. For real. Article in _Thanet Extra_ and everything.

Chris carried on staring as Karen finished tidying away some lifejackets and other stray bits of kit, then stood, hands on hips, gazing up the beach. Suddenly, she broke into a huge smile, and started waving.

He craned his head around to look for who she was waving at, and immediately homed in on another figure. A woman dressed in a sort of uniform – beige knee-length skirt, smart white blouse with a name badge pinned to it; probs a hotel manageress or travel company rep or something – was striding down the beach. Barefoot, her shoes swung from the fingers of her left hand while her right clutched a couple of cold beers. Chris watched open-mouthed as this woman marched up to the waiting girl, handed her a beer, then slipped an arm round Karen's waist and kissed her on the lips.

With a sinking feeling, he knew immediately who this was, even before she turned towards him. She too was tanned, brown as a berry as his Grandad used to say, and her hair was a lighter blonde than before, presumably bleached by constant exposure to the sun and sea. But this was, indeed, the woman who, weirdly, he found he couldn't think of as anything other than Miss Shawcross.

Chris flopped back onto the sand and pulled his hat down over his eyes. They had both been looking towards him. It was unlikely they'd recognised him, but even so. He found himself fervently hoping that the two women would just walk away.

He was just settling back into the sand and tipping his beer bottle back to drain the dregs when he became aware of someone sitting down next to him. With trepidation, he peered out from under the brim of his hat. Two long, slim brown legs stretched towards the lapping waves. The contrast with his own pale, blotchy white legs was pretty sickening.

"Hello, Chris. How you doing?"

He pushed his hat back on his head and looked up. Karen's impossibly blue, piercing eyes seemed to drill into him as she scrutinised him with an unwavering, steady look.

"Umm," he stammered. "Errrr, Karen! Isn't it?" he said, while wishing that it actually wasn't and that this was all an alcohol-induced mirage.

"That's right. Clever boy. So you remember me, then?" She sucked on her beer bottle, never once dropping her gaze. "I certainly remember you."

"Ahh, yeah, of course! Sure! I thought I recognised you… emmm, great to see you again!"

"Is it?"

"Yeah, of course!" he lied. "And was that… umm, you know, with you?"

"Chris, you know exactly who that was."

"Riiiiight! Thought so! So you two are still… you know… emm…"

Another voice came from his other side. This was unfortunate, as Chris had been slowly edging away from Karen and now his escape route was blocked. Because Holly was sitting there.

"Still what, Chris? Still _screwing_, is that it? That was the delicate way you put it, if I remember correctly. But yes, Chris, Karen and I are still together, if that's what you're asking. Very much so, in fact."

"Oh, ermm, hi there Miss Shawcross."

Holly threw her head back and hooted with laughter. "Oh my! Did you hear that, Karen? Miss Shawcross. He's such a sweetie."

Karen snorted derisively and drew swirls in the sand with her fingers.

"You really don't have to call me Miss Shawcross any more, Chris. I'm Holly."

"Awww, but I like to hear that," interjected Karen. "Shawcross is such a nice name. Karen Shawcross sounds great. Or Mrs Shawcross. Has a ring to it, don't you think, Chris?"

Chris' eyes were open like saucers and his jaw hung loose.

"Oh, ignore her, Chris. She's such a tease," continued Holly, in a pleasant, even tone. "We haven't quite got to that stage yet."

Karen and Holly exchanged amused - but meaningful - glances.

"So… so do you live here then?" asked Chris, hesitantly.

"For now." answered Holly, casually. "Then when the season ends here we'll head off somewhere else for a couple of months. Somewhere further afield, probably."

"Have you heard any more about that, then?" enquired Karen, talking conversationally over Chris like he wasn't there.

"Either Phuket or Bali. Not 100% sure yet."

"Cool. Either's fine with me."

"But of course we have to be back in Europe by December."

Chris looked nonplussed; his alcohol-addled brain was clearly having trouble processing all this. Karen took over.

"Ski season. We're doing a ski season in Chamonix." Chris still looked vacant, so Karen started explaining things like she was dealing with a particularly slow five-year-old. She jabbed a finger into her breastbone. "Chalet girl." Then pointed her finger at Holly. "Ski instructor."

"But you can't ski, Karen," Chris said, dumbly.

"I can now. Holly taught me last year. She's been skiing since she was five, did you know that? And she's an excellent teacher, of course. But then you knew _that_, didn't you? Or you should have if you'd actually had an ounce of sense."

"Picked it up amazingly quickly," mused Holly. "You should see her on the really nasty black pistes. Fearless. It's quite scary."

Holly was now stretched out, leaning back on her elbows, face turned up to catch the sun and splaying her sandy toes.

"Oh, yes, we've seen quite a bit of the world in the last couple of years, haven't we Kaz?"

Karen grinned, a huge grin that lit up her whole face. "Yup. Certainly have, Hols."

The two women giggled over the private joke they'd just shared. Chris felt deeply uncomfortable and strangely powerless; not in control of the situation. He wasn't used to that. And he didn't like it one bit.

Holly asked, "So what about you, Chris? What are you up to these days?"

"Going to Uni," he mumbled.

"Really? Well done you! Let me guess. Oxford? Cambridge? Harvard maybe?"

Chris muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry Chris, didn't catch that?" said Karen sharply.

Chris cleared his throat and whispered the name of a seriously undistinguished former Poly, located in the depths of the post-industrial northern English rustbelt.

"Oh I see. Well, enjoy the freezing cold and pissing rain there in November. We'll be thinking of you when we're in Bali. Or wherever."

There was silence for a couple of minutes as Holly and Karen sipped their beers and gazed contentedly out to sea.

Eventually Chris shifted uneasily on the sand and took a deep breath. "Look, Miss Shawc… Holly. And Karen. Look, you know, I'm really sorry about… well…"

"Oh, don't apologise, Chris," said Holly. "Actually that's why we came to see you today."

"You came…?" Chris' brain was actually on the verge of throwing in the towel completely by now.

"Yes, you dipstick," snapped Karen. "I spotted you here two days ago. But we waited till Holly's afternoon off so we could come and say hello together."

"You see," continued Holly, "we wanted to thank you. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be here today. So thanks. Right, hon?"

"Right." confirmed Karen. She saluted Holly with her beer bottle and Holly winked back.

"So, anyway Chris," said Holly, standing up and brushing the sand from her skirt, "I've enjoyed our little chat and I'm sure Karen has too. I think we'll leave you to your… umm... holiday activities now." She stepped round in front of Chris, took Karen's hand and helped her to her feet.

"Bye Chris. Give our regards to Margate, won't you?"

"Bye Chris," echoed Karen. "Oh and Chris, don't chuck your beer bottle away in the sand like you did the last two days, OK?"

"Umm. OK. Sure."

Chris watched listlessly as the two women strolled off hand in hand, heading down the beach to the waterline and wading ankle deep in the cool water, chatting and laughing as little wavelets washed over their bare feet. He swore under his breath, gingerly hauled himself upright and plodded slowly up the beach toward his rented apartment, pausing only to drop his beer bottle into a recycling bin on the way.


End file.
